


It's a Wonderful Life

by sussexbound (SamanthaLenore)



Series: Home is Not a Place [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Season/Series 04, TFP Does Not Exist, The Talk: Man-to-Man, inconvenient erections
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 19:32:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12613832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamanthaLenore/pseuds/sussexbound
Summary: “You going to take care of that?”  John is staring at the screen now too.  Easier.“What?”“You know what.”“I told you.  It’s nothing.  The bowl was warm, and—that’s all.”‘And there was nothing but a few millimetres of stainless steel between my hand and your…’ John thinks, but doesn’t say.“That happen often?”“You know, this film is suddenly quite engrossing…”“Thought it was sentimental tripe.”“Yes, well given the alternatives…”“You don’t want to talk about it?”“Oh scintillating powers of deduction, John.”





	It's a Wonderful Life

**Author's Note:**

> Offering #4 in the 'Home is not a Place' series.

“Popcorn or crisps?”

The barely audible grunt from the lounge is all the indication John needs to know that if things are going to get even remotely festive this evening, then he is going to have to be the one driving the the whole affair.

“I said, popcorn or crisps?For the snacks.For the film.”

“Mmm…What?Oh.Popcorn…Wait.”Sherlock’s head snaps up, a small wrinkle at his brow.“What film?”

John rolls his eyes.“We talked about this at supper.Do you not remember that? _It’s a Wonderful Life_.You said you’d never seen it.I said that I would definitely have to rectify that as soon as possible.”

“Oh.Well, I didn’t know you meant tonight.”

“Problem?”

“No.”

“Good, then get comfortable, because we’re watching it.”

“Why?”

“Because you said I could do whatever I wanted to do for Christmas this year, you couldn’t care less.Well, I want to watch _It’s a Wonderful Life_ with you.So we’re doing it.Consider it your gift to me.”

“It’s not Christmas for three weeks, I’ve already got you a gift, and that’s not exactly what I…”

“We’re doing it.”

“Okay…”

John jerks his head in acknowledgement, and retreats back to the kitchen to make the the popcorn.It’s been two months, two months since their little chat at the church yard, two months since Sherlock’s acknowledgement that they are _something._ In many ways it’s been the longest two months of John’s life.

He’s tried to test the waters, to push the edges a little.If he’s honest with himself, and Christ but he’s been trying to be that lately, he’s not sure where his own edges lie.But he’s not going to find out, _they’re_ not going to find out, if they’re both just sitting still.

They’ve never even talked about it.Not once.

It happened.The words were said.‘They’ were suddenly now an ‘us’.There was a dinner (a date?), there was a casual stroll back to their shared hotel room, and their usual good-nights, and then they were back home again, and life just—carried on as usual.

Perhaps it had been his fault.He had told Sherlock that nothing had to change.And it’s true, it doesn’t.Things are good.But it’s the not knowing.It’s the whisper of possibility hanging thick in the air ever since, that’s about driving John mad.

“Don’t make it too salty.It gives me a headache.”

John jumps a little at the sound of Sherlock’s voice from the other room.“It’s your blood pressure.I’m telling you.You need to eat more fruit and veg.Start running with me in the mornings.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“You need to have your annual.You need to keep on top of that, since…You know what the doctors said.”

Silence reigns from the other room, and John grabs two bottled waters from the refrigerator, and balances the bowl of popcorn on his forearm as he moves into the lounge.

Sherlock is slouched on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table, blanket draped over his legs.He’s pouting.

“What’s gotten into you, then?Here, scoot over…”John nudges Sherlock’s legs to the side with his knees, puts the bowl of popcorn in Sherlock’s lap, and waters down on the table, and reaches for the remote. “You going to be grumpy all night.”

“‘M not.”

John grins as he flops back onto the sofa.Sherlock’s got his arm draped over the back cushions.He doesn’t move it as John settles in.It seems promising.

“You just need to be careful.That’s all I’m saying.Your body’s been through a hell of a lot.”

“You worry like an old man.”

“Oi!Who are you calling old?”

Sherlock barely stifles a grin, and John lets it go, as the screen flickers to life, and the film begins.

Sherlock sniffs.“Is this going to be sentimental drivel?”

“Guaranteed.”

A long-suffering sigh is all the reply John gets.

They watch in silence for awhile, the only sound in the room the tinny audio of the telly and the scraping of their hands against the sides of the metal popcorn bowl.Their fingers brush sometimes.It’s nice. 

Sherlock squirms beside him, slouches down a little further on the sofa.The bowl almost topples off his lap, but he snatches it up again, just in time.

“You want me to make more?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m going for more water.Give me the bowl.You want anything?”

“No.”Sherlock’s eyes are trained on the screen, fingers gripped tightly around the rim of the bowl in his lap.

John frowns.“The bowl.”

“Mmm?”

“The bowl.Give it here.I’m going to toss it in the sink.”

When Sherlock still doesn’t move, John reaches down and snatches it up, at which point, Sherlock immediately pulls his knees up to his chest with a small scowl, but not before John has seen…

John turns and walks into the kitchen.He sets the bowl in the sink.He grabs another bottle of water from the fridge.he considers his options.He could go to the loo and give Sherlock time to get sorted.He could just go back in there and pretend he didn’t notice.He could—address it.

“I can hear you fretting from in here, John.It’s nothing.Ignore it.It will—go away—in a minute.”

_Not at all an option John had considered._

_Right then._

John walks back into the room.Sits on the sofa.He is careful to sit in relatively the same place, but leaves an extra inch of space between them.George is offering Mary the moon.

“This film is ridiculous.”

“It’s nice.”

“Mmm…”

John had done his best not to stare when he came back into the lounge, but he couldn’t help but notice the pink tinge to Sherlock’s cheeks.He’s putting up a good front though, and John is letting him.And isn’t that just them all over…

“You going to take care of that?”John is staring at the screen now too.Easier.

“What?”

“You know what.”

“I told you.It’s nothing.The bowl was warm, and—that’s all.”

 _‘And there was nothing but a few millimetres of stainless steel between my hand and your…’_ John thinks, but doesn’t say.

“That happen often?”

“You know, this film is suddenly quite engrossing…”

“Thought it was sentimental tripe.”

“Yes, well given the alternatives…”

“You don’t want to talk about it?”

“Oh scintillating powers of deduction, John.”

John bites down on the inside of his cheek, sucks in a tight breath, tries to remind himself that Sherlock is not good at these sorts of things.That he knows this.That he needs to not rise to the bait.

“You know—it’s fine.I don’t mind.”

It’s Sherlock’s turn to suck in a breath.John doesn’t miss the way it quavers around the edges.“Why are we talking about this?”

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Good.”

They descend into silence.John watches the images flicker across the screen.He’s not really seeing them anymore.There’s too much at stake.They’ve come so far, and it feels important, this; too important to just leave hanging.

“You know, it’s not out of place for blokes to talk about these things.Friends talk about these things.”

Sherlock squirms again and pulls his knees up even closer to his chest.“Good Lord.”

“But we’re, uh…We’re more than that now, aren’t we?”

Sherlock’s head whips over at that.His cheeks are flushed bright red.His eyes linger, for a moment, taking in every detail, every tell, before he finally nods.“Yes.I believe we are.”

“Then we should talk about it—some time.We need to talk about it.”

“Sex?”

John’s eyes widen a little at the frankness.“Yeah.I guess.Or not.I mean, if we’re an ‘us’, we need to decide what that means for us.”

Sherlock stares down at his knees, swallows.“I know you don’t want it.It’s fine.It’s always been fine.You’re here.You’re staying.That’s enough for me.”

“Is it?”He whispers it without knowing why, and Sherlock looks up at him again, open, not hiding, not a single atom of him hiding.

“Yes.”

“And—if I did want it…Would that be fine, too?”

Something shifts behind Sherlock’s eyes, the small wrinkle forming between his brows evidence that this is not something he thought even close to being a possibility.“Do you?”

John’s mouth is dry.He suddenly feels the slightest bit ill, but Sherlock isn’t looking away. He’s just staring, intent on this answer, hanging on to the precipice of John’s prolonged silence like it’s the razor’s edge between life and everything that comes after.

“Yeah, I think…Yeah, I do.But only if you do.It’s not…It doesn’t have to be a part of what we are if it’s not something you’re comfortable with.”

Sherlock blinks at him, a few times in rapid succession, and then looks away, back down at his knees.He picks at a small nub in the cotton of his pyjamas.“And are _you_ —comfortable with it?”

He’s not.He’s sure he’s not, and yet…John’s stomach twists, and the corner of his eyes bite.No.He doesn’t know what he is, how he is with it, he just knows… 

“I love you.”

Sherlock gasps quietly, looks up eyes suddenly full.

“I love you, and I don’t know what to do with everything I feel when we’re together, and I want to see if I can figure that out—together.If—if that’s something you want.”

Sherlock’s nods.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.Okay, good.That’s good.”John turns his attention back to the television a few feet away.It _is_ a ridiculous movie, he suddenly realises.The man who sacrifices everything, never once thinks of himself, pushes himself to the brink of desperation and ruin to help others and all for what?

He looks over at Sherlock.He’s still curled into himself, even though John is fairly certain the prior issue has sorted itself by now.He still looks unmoored, off-balance…He must catch John looking, because he suddenly glances away from the telly and meets his eye.

John smiles softly.“Can I kiss you?”

He feels the significance of the request prickle over his own skin, dance in the air between them likely lightning on the edge of a storm, all breathless anticipation and promise.

Sherlock nods.

And so John does.John kisses him.

Almost chaste, but he feels that kiss flow between them like warm honey, flow all the way down to the centre of him, a place locked tight for longer than he can remember, and it flows right in, cracks him open, lets the light in.

It’s Sherlock who pulls back first.He presses his forehead against John’s, eyes still closed.Somehow, at some point, one hand has found it’s way to John’s face, and he runs his thumb along John’s cheekbone, once, twice, breathes, opens his eyes—slowly.

“I love you, too.”

John smiles.“Do you?”

Sherlock smiles back.“I do.”


End file.
